Feet Vanishing Spray
by NorthShadow
Summary: The Doctor's daughter decides to become an inventor after learning a harsh lesson: NEVER venture into your father's wadrobe. Some canon details won't be correct, I'm not expert on pre-2005 DW. Eleven/Amy. Also up on Whofic.


**Title:** Feet-Vanishing Spray

**Genre:** Romance/ Erotica

**Rating:** M

**Characters/Pairing:** Eleven/Amy

**Listening:** You Only Get What You Give – The New Radicals

**Reading:** A Spot of Bother – Mark Haddon

**Watching:** Mock the Week

**Feeling:** Sleepy

**Warning:** Sexual themes, some language

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This was written prior to Series 6, so there is no relevance to River/Melody (or to the pre-2005 DW character Mel). The Doctor's daughter is his biological child and an OC, with a randomly chosen name. Aside from Ekreblon Five, she is the only thing I own in this story.

* * *

The Doctor was sex on legs.

How many times had she awoken in the middle of the night to him screwing their current companion? She remembered the first time it had happened: she had emerged from her room after waking to hear very strange noises and walked into the Doctor's room to discover he was making very furious love to a woman on the floor, clothing littered everywhere. Safe to say she had nearly screamed and ran from the room and from then on never went in without knocking, even if their companions were elsewhere inside the TARDIS.

Shivering slightly at the memory, Mel decided she was very much akin to the human fact of being absolutely scarred for life after seeing and/or hearing your parents have sex. And she had seen it. And heard it. On numerous occasions. So it was surprising that, as of yet, she hadn't yet woken up to hear the sounds of ecstasy from current companion Amy.

The three of them had landed here three days ago: Ekreblon Five. Quite a famous natural water park, complete with slides. Mel had long since got bored of swimming and had returned to the sanctity of her father's TARDIS to towel herself and begin the long transformation back to Time Lord from raisin. Her father and Amy were still cavorting about in the water.

Mel retired to her room, leaving the familiarity of the console room to start the long journey down the corridors. She had finally managed to map out the route to their bedrooms, after getting lost three times; one of those times she ended up right in the bowels of the machine and had been there for a full 12 hours because the Doctor couldn't find her, but on the plus side had discovered the TARDIS now possessed a bowling alley and cinema.

Collapsing on her bed, Mel pulled out the large keepsake box from underneath. It was a large mahogany box with Gallifreyan gold hinges and latch and her name spelled out in gold-embossed Old High Gallifreyan lettering. It was her last slice of home, aside from her father and the TARDIS. Inside nestled nearly nine centuries of memories; photographs and holographic images of her mother and father, a baby between them. The little ring she used to wear as a child. Her favourite set of playing cards. Her provisional TARDIS driving licence. One of her father's scarves from an earlier incarnation. Memories.

Suddenly experiencing a moment of loneliness and vulnerability, Mel closed the box with a loud snap, stowed it back under her bed and went to her father's room – knocking on the door despite him being outside; by the shrieking she could hear Amy had discovered the Ekreblonian equivalent of a flume. She glanced at the rows and rows of bookshelves, photographs of her and her mother, a leather jacket in the corner and a pair of Converse on the top of a pile of footwear. 907 years worth of memories in here.

She lay down on his dark blue sheets. She remembered a time when they weren't constantly chased by aliens, when they were happy, when their home was intact. When her mother retired to bed or to her work at the DTLA Mel would snuggle into his arms and he'd ruffle her hair. He'd call her his little Time Lady-let. If he was in an exceptionally good mood, he'd make cocoa.

Mel sighed. That never happened any more.

Thinking of this gave her an urge to be close to the last piece of her true heritage. Jumping off the bed Mel strode across the room and entered his wardrobe. Rows of clothing old and new lined the walls and she reached out for the nearest discarded item, drawing it around herself. It was one of his tweed jackets. Scratchy.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside in the corridor and Mel jumped up: she wasn't allowed in here unless he was here too. Even when they first fled the Time War and accepted the TARDIS was now their home, ages before their first ever companion, the Doctor had said his room, when unoccupied by him was Strictly Forbidden, along with the diving pool, the kitchen and the strange room with all the crabs.

Realising she had no way of getting out Mel sank into the clothing, hoping that the trench coat she was hiding behind concealed her feet. That was always the first thing that gave the game up. Feet. She had once voiced that there should be some sort of a 'Feet-Vanishing Spray' invented specifically for the purpose. He had laughed and tousled her hair. "Maybe my little Time Lady-let," he had said.

The Doctor crashed through the door in a whirl of tweed, swimming shorts and wet red hair. Amy appeared to be suctioned to his face and at this point it was hard to tell whose hands were whose. They stumbled to the bed and collapsed onto it, pawing each other everywhere and anywhere.

Mel stood rooted to the spot. She wanted to leave, and she highly doubted that they would notice her walking out of there even if she yelled 'Oh my God I am so sorry!', but she couldn't physically move. All she could do was stare transfixed at her father getting down and dirty with a companion; something which she hadn't seen in nearly eight hundred and eighty years.

Any inhibitions had been left at the door. Amy had now got him out of his jacket and wet t-shirt – Mel reckoned they had literally bunged their clothes back on in an act of pure passions and sexual revelation – and his fingers were doing some hefty exploration of her chest, reaching round and down to remove her vest and bikini top.

This was something Mel hadn't planned on seeing at any point. Amy Pond, topless, grinding her hips against her father's rather obvious erection. It was sickening yet somehow fascinating, and Mel watched on, despite her brain screaming that she had to leave right there and then to save on counselling.

By now Amy had brought a hand down and pushed it under the waistband of his board shorts, and by the sounds he was making in the back of his throat as he nipped at her neck, she had her fingers wrapped around his hardness. He responded by pressing a thumb against her clitoris. She gasped and rolled her hips hard against his hands. He grinned his evil grin and started up a rhythm, rotating his thumb in small circles whilst trailing his middle finger down the crotch of her bikini bottoms. This made her buck her hips harder and his chuckle turned into an unmanly squeak as Amy's arm twisted slightly.

"That's it," he said and, seizing her round the waist, he rolled them over, divesting her of her bikini bottoms and him of his board shorts in one fluid movement that, had she been watching this on a porn website in the safety of her own room and computer, Mel would have clapped at.

Pressing his forehead against hers, the Doctor positioned himself at her entrance, the immense effort of holding back making him visibly quiver. "You don't know how long I have waited for this," he whispered, quiet enough for Mel to have to strain to hear. And with that, he thrust smoothly upwards, uniting them with a gasp of her name.

Now Mel was treading in the territory of needing serious therapy. And yet, her body was permitting no movement other than the split second's relief she got of the view of the inside of her eyelids.

Setting up a steady rhythm and with their foreheads still pressed together, the Doctor started to thrust deeply, forcing Amy's back up off the bed and her legs to wrap around his waist. She clawed at his back, her red-painted nails leaving a trail of reddened skin. He dropped his head to her shoulder to kiss his way along her collarbone and she dropped her head back, allowing his full access to her neck. She pressed her chest to his and started to match his thrusts. She abruptly became rigid, before screaming something along the lines of 'fuck yes that's the spot that's the spot of fuck oh fuck oh fuck.'

Rising above her, the Doctor plastered another evil grin across his face and, keeping his eyes on her face to gauge her reactions, started to shallow his thrusts, aiming a little bit further up. When he managed to hit that particular spot inside her, Amy went completely mad. She seemed to lose all sense of the English language, shouting random words that were almost certainly amalgamations of 'fuck', 'yes' and 'that's the spot.'

Finally she reached climax. She screamed his name, she raked her nails down his back, and she arched her back so far she physically brought her whole body up off the mattress. The Doctor was nearing climax too, and dropped his head to her chest as he rode her climax out and let go of his. His whole lanky frame shuddered hard, repeating her name like a mantra as he gave a few final deep thrusts. Then he collapsed on top of her and all was still.

Now Mel's legs regained their normal function and she found the soles of her trainers were not actually melted into the floor. Now, of course, she couldn't get out. There was no noise to disguise her footsteps, there were no intense...activity to occupy their minds, just the afterglow of the resolve of their sexual tension and the afterglow was not enough to get the witness from the room unnoticed.

Just as she decided she'd wait until they either left the room or fell asleep to leave, Mel heard Amy speak.

"Won't Mel have heard that?" Whimpering as he withdrew, Amy snuggled into his chest. He settled next to her and produced a blanket from seemingly nowhere to drape over them.

"Of course," he replied, nuzzling her neck, "seeing as she's been in the wardrobe the whole time."

Turning beetroot, Mel looked down and realised her feet were on display.

She was definitely inventing that Feet-Vanishing Spray as soon as Time Lordly possible.


End file.
